


mercy is the only way out

by izzyasavestheday (stilessexual)



Series: echo [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, description of panic attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-20 20:05:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11928267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilessexual/pseuds/izzyasavestheday
Summary: “What’s wrong?” she asked mournfully. “Why are you upset?”“Lily,” he racked his fingers through his hair and tugged, painful, rooting himself to some form of reality. “Lily, he’ll ruin me this time. This time I won’t survive him. I won’t.”or-Simon finally comes home.or-Raphael's perspective in "I hear love."





	mercy is the only way out

**Author's Note:**

> title is from the song "The Only Way Out" by Andra Days. 
> 
> Thank you to JasxXx for this wonderful idea. I really, really enjoyed writing this.

Meliorn leveled Raphael with a long, steady look.

“Raphael,” he said patiently, “if this is about your fledgling—

It happened like this: the Downworlder meeting ended, and Meliorn had stayed behind to speak to Raphael. The conversation had been going smoothly, until it wasn’t. Until Raphael had snapped back a biting retort, one he could no longer even remember, at a harmless joke Meliorn had said.

“It’s not about Simon,” Raphael replied, frustrated. “Why is everything about Simon? Also, he’s not _my_ anything, don’t be ridiculous.”

Meliorn blinked and took in the hostility in Raphael’s tone easily.

“Despite being easily able to,” he said, “you’re not a very good liar.”

Raphael worked his jaw minutely. He could feel the anger just bubbling underneath the surface of his skin –unexplainable, how the mere mention of Simon’s name was enough to send Raphael through a whirlpool of emotions.  

“Take my words as you please,” Meliorn’s voice was surprisingly gentle, “but you’ve lost enough, my friend. I believe it is time to find forgiveness and move on before the Nephilim take away everything we hold dear.”

Raphael slumped into his chair, suddenly exhausted beyond words.

He felt so old. He felt so tired.

“Forgiveness?” Raphael questioned, nearly astounded. “You’re talking to me about forgiveness, Meliorn?”

Meliorn smirked and looked down at his hands; the gesture was very nearly human, just on this side of rueful.

“There is always so much to learn,” he murmured. “About ourselves. About the people we care for.”

Meliorn walked away, leaving Raphael gapping at his retreating figure.

Surreal. It was absolutely surreal.

Across the room, Magnus sent him a concerned glance. Raphael shook his head at his friend and made his way back to the DuMort. He found himself wandering the streets of the Bronx alone, in a desperate attempt to make sense of all that had happened over the course of the last few weeks. Raphael was thinking and rethinking the brief, if not illuminating, conversation he’d had with Meliorn and the meeting with the Downworlder cabinet before that.

Surreal—

“Oh come _on_ ,” a familiar voice gasped from an alley, “Jesus Christ.” it went on in obvious frustration.

Like a punch to the gut, Raphael’s breath left him in a startling whoosh. He knew who that voice belonged to.  He knew who was gasping for breath a few feet away with the same certainty he knew that the sun would rise in the morning.

_Don’t go. Don’t follow it. Don’t be a fool. Don’t—_

Raphael turned the corner and found Simon with his head bowed and his hands pressed against the alley wall, shaking from head to toe, in the ugly grip of a panic attack—

and it’s like, this tug low in his belly, one he couldn’t ignore no matter how hard he tried. It pulled him towards Simon despite every rational thought and desire that begged otherwise, despite every thought that begged him to run in the opposite direction.

“Simon,” he whispered, rushing towards him “Simon, do hear me?”

Simon raised his head slow, slow, slow and blinked at Raphael like he was waking up from a dream.

“Don’t touch me,” he said frantically, his voice was the sort of desperate Raphael had never had the misfortune to hear before. “Don’t touch me.”

“Okay,” Raphael tried to keep his voice soothing, tried to stop the shaking from reaching his hands. He never knew he could be so scared for another person –there wasn’t a tangible danger, there wasn’t anything but Simon’s body and mind turning against him but Raphael was so, so scared for him. “Okay, fledgling. Tell me what you need.”

Simon shuddered, rocking back and forth, back and forth, “Talk. Just talk.”

and—

Raphael just couldn’t help himself.

They talked. They talked until Simon slumped to the floor in an exhausted heap and Raphael found a place beside him.

“I know,” Simon said, they’d been discussing his newfound daylighter abilities and how much Simon was struggling with them. He sounded irritable. He sounded defeated. “G- fuck, shit, I know. So many would kill to have this, but it’s like –like yeah, a fucking miracle, I can _walk_ in the sun but nothing in my body wants to. I can barely function during the day.”

And Raphael? Raphael was a fool. That is the only explanation for what he did next.

It seemed that no matter the hurt, no matter the pain, he kept coming back for more. No matter how much of himself he kept giving up at Simon’s feet. No matter the nights spent agonizing over what should’ve been, what could’ve been.  No matter, he found himself offering Simon a place back within the sacredness of his home.

Raphael’s _home._

Like Simon didn’t tear down everything they built the first time around, like he didn’t destroy any future, any prospect—

“Right,” Raphael wished there wasn’t a painful knot in his throat. He desperately prayed for kindness, for Simon to be merciful this time around. “Let’s go.”

Simon gapped up at him, the beautiful idiot, all doe-eyed and soft-lipped. “Go where?”

He looked like everything Raphael had ever wanted, had ever dared to desire. So, he rolled his eyes, anything, anything, anything to stop the fledgling from thinking he cared.

Because he cared. So much.

Raphael was so in love with Simon his very bones ached with it.

“Home.”

He extended his hand towards Simon. For a single agonizing moment, (eternity, really) he thought Simon would reject him. Until Simon –beautiful Simon, love of his eternal life Simon, betrayer Simon, traitor backstabber oath breaker Simon– slipped his hand into Raphael’s and allowed himself to be heaved to his feet.  

-

home home _home_ —

Simon was finally home.

Simon’s frantic, furious apologies stumbled off of his lips over and over and over and the Clan forgave and forgave and forgave –they wrapped around the fledgling tight enough to mend, tight enough to hurt.

A good hurt, Magnus’ voice said to him quietly, the only hurt that made immortality worth a damn.

 They’d lost so much and the loss of Simon was one they were no longer willing to accept–not when they could so easily do something about it, not when they could so easily forgive. As they pressed around Simon, they pulled a hesitant Raphael into their midst. Before he knew when or how he was pressed against Simon, closer than they’d ever been, as their family members cried and mourned around them.

(It was always like that with Simon, wasn’t it? Before Raphael knew how or when, before he recognized the feelings, he was at the end before he even realized he’d started. Drowning before he realized that he’d even dipped into the water.)

Raphael felt a shaking start deep in his ribs –a deep rooted sense of panic that he hadn’t felt in decades— and separated himself as quickly and quietly as possible from the rest of the Clan. He found the furthest room he could and allowed himself to unravel at the seams.

“ _Dios_ ,” he exhaled shakily as the familiar burn of tears gathered in his throat, “What have I done. What have I done? I brought him back into my _home_.”

“Rafa,” a soft voice interjected. He closed his eyes. Lily. It’s just Lily.

She moved around him to turn on the television in the room and increased the volume as high as it will go –it wouldn’t stop those who wanted to listen in from listening, not if they tried hard enough, but it was a request for privacy that most in the Clan, including Simon, respected.

“What’s wrong?” she asked mournfully. “Why are you upset?”

“Lily,” he racked his fingers through his hair and tugged, painful, rooting himself to some form of reality. “Lily, he’ll ruin me this time. This time I won’t survive him. I won’t.”

“Oh, Raphael” she deflated, “darling, you don’t know that. You can’t know that.”

He squeezed his eyes shut against the sadness on her face but all he could see was Simon walking away. Simon choosing the Nephilim. Simon walking away, walking away, walking away. Simon’s anger, the ragee that dripped off of his tongue like poison. All he could feel was the weeks spent without him –the cold that had seeped into his bones. The loss. The loss. The loss.

How does one boy leave behind so much loss?

“He doesn’t know,” he stammered, “How could he? He’s so young and he’s yet to even live. He doesn’t know what any of this means, or how I feel. He doesn’t –he can’t begin to understand how he ruined, how much what he did—

“Stop,” she pressed her small hands to his face and forced him to look down at her, “Stop, Raphael. You’re being a fool.”

Raphael laughed wetly.

“Am I?” he croaked, “I won’t survive him—

“You will,” she said firmly, nails digging into his cheeks. “If he does betray the Clan again, if he does betray _you_ , you will survive. It will hurt –the worst kind of hurt, Raphael, but you will survive the fledgling.”

“What if,” he whispered, so quiet, so ashamed, “what if I don’t want to?”

Lily’s expression unraveled, “I don’t say this to hurt you –I don’t say this to give you false hope or to patronize you, okay? I’ll never be anything but honest with you. You know that, right?”

Raphael nodded, pressed his hands over hers.

Lily was his friend –his sister and his mother and _friend._

“Of course,” he said, “Lily, of course.”

“He looks at you softly,” she whispered, “he looks at you like he’s discovering something new and precious –you said it, darling, he is young. He’s barely lived. But he looks at you the way most look at salvation. And that, that means something for the Night Children, doesn’t it?”

Raphael gapped at her, at a loss, disbelief and the most pathetic type of hope warring for victory inside of him. Lily wasn’t cruel, so she didn’t wait for his answer. Instead she pressed a hard kiss to his forehead.

“There’s no use agonizing over what may happen,” she murmured lowly, “we gotta live, Raphael.”

-

Simon tidied around the hotel. He helped with reports. He laughed and joked. He pressed Clan members into tight, lingering hugs. He sought and found forgiveness from even the most stubborn of them. He laughed.

Simon laughed so much; the image of it was permanently imbedded on the back of Raphael’s lids.

The Night Children’s relationship with the Clave unraveled once more, and in retaliation they forced Alec’s hand and changed the time of the meetings they’d once held to an especially inopportune time for vampires –during the day. But, Simon didn’t allow the Clan to wallow long because he quickly took on the responsibility of attending said meetings and representing them.

 And Raphael? Raphael let him.

(A fool. A fool.)

That particular evening found him stumbling to the kitchen after an especially shit night’s rest. There he found Simon, who appeared to have only just returned from the Institute. Raphael lurched to a stop in the doorway, acutely aware of the way his hair stuck up around his head and the sleep marks on his cheek, “Simon,”

“Good morning,” Simon leveled him with a smile so bright it made the space between Raphael’s ribs ache sweetly.

“’Morning,” he replied slowly, “How was the meeting with the Nephilim?”

Simon gestured vaguely to a notepad that Raphael knew he regularly took notes in. “I took notes and recorded it but like, it’s like always, you know? They talk in circles about everything that needs to be done but nothing actually gets done and they just speak over the Downworlders instead of listening to us.”

Simon rubbed his face tiredly. Raphael ached to move forward and pull the fledgling into a comforting hug. The thought was preposterous enough to cement his position as far away from Simon as possible.  “They’re consistent, if anything.”

Simon snorted, and continued to move around the kitchen. Two glasses, the blood he’d been slowly heating in a pan, humming as he quickly opened a cupboard here and washed a plate there. He looked so comfortable, so much like he belonged. So much like he might stay –like, when push came to shove he wouldn’t leave them. Like he wouldn’t leave Raphael.

“Raphael?” Simon’s face was suddenly in his line of vision, too close, never close enough. “You good?”

Raphael blinked, “Yes. Yes, I’m good, thank you.”

He tilted his head slightly –too keen— and pressed one of the glasses of blood into Raphael’s hand.

“I’m gonna go write this report while it’s fresh in my head,” he said, slowly. “I’ll see you later and we can go through the recording?”

Raphael felt dazed, he blinked at the glass of blood in his hand and then back up at Simon’s expectant face, “Yes, of course.”

And then—

Mother Mary, Simon tried to leave the kitchen but Raphael was still cemented in the doorway like a fucking idiot, and in his attempt to maneuver around him Simon was too close, too close, his hand on Raphael’s hip, too close, too close. Body radiating heat, chest to chest—

The wave of want that crashed through Raphael left him in a haze that swayed him forwards towards Simon, almost, almost, almost—

(Those were Simon’s fingers grazing the exposed skin of Raphael’s hip, just so, like a burning, burning, burning.)

A crash came from one the bedrooms above.

Simon jerked away and cleared his throat roughly, faint patches of pink high on his cheeks. “Okay. Cool. I’m gonna go now.”

Raphael waited until the sound of Simon’s footsteps all but faded before he set the glass of blood firmly on the counterpart and buried his face in his hands, stifling his quiet groans of despair.

-

Raphael came back home to the tail end of Simon’s rage reverberating around every corner of the hotel—

_“The shit Izzy pulled with Raphael? Clary, g-fuck, fuck, if she’d done that to a Shadowhunter it would’ve been unforgiveable—_

“Lily,” Raphael rushed towards her, “Lily, what the hell is going on?”

The rest of the Clan gathered around the common area, wide-eyed and on edge as Simon’s voice rung loudly in their ears.

“Clarissa Fairchild came to visit,” Lily mumbled, the telltale sign of rage evident in her eyes. “It was going alright until—

 _“None of you cared that Alec beat the shit out of him,”_ Simon went on loudly, _“if Magnus hadn’t stopped him, fuck. Shit! And you Clary!”_

“Until she asked one too many questions,” Lily went on grimly, “and well. He’s been bottling it all up for a while, hasn’t he?”

 _“Clary you are so good,_ ” Simon went on, there was an edge to his voice that Raphael had never heard before, a certain cruelty that didn’t suit him. _“so kind. But you were willing to let Madzie die until it affected you. You saved her, sure, whatever but it was not because she was just a kid and had no one left in the world. But because it affected you.”_

“Dios,” Raphael whispered hoarsely. “He’s really going for it, isn’t he?”

Lily hummed soundly, “As he should.”  

They listened to the quiet for a moment, before Simon’s suit door slammed shut. Clary nosily clattered through the DuMort until she came face to face with the Clan and stumbled to a surprised halt. Raphael gestured vaguely and they all sunk into the darkness.

“I-,” she started, “I don’t, I didn’t,”

Big, fat tears were falling from her eyes despite her frantic hands coming up to wipe them away over and over again.  

“I didn’t know,” she whispered, brows furrowed. “I swear I didn’t, about Izzy. Anything. I swear.” 

“It’s alright,” Raphael said, and cut himself off abruptly at the distant sound of Lily’s hiss of disapproval.

It wasn’t, not really. None of this was okay. Clary stood there, crying, her dark makeup staining her cheeks and he was hit by how young she was, how young Simon was –he tried to remember himself at her age and couldn’t, he hadn’t even made it to twenty before he’d been turned. He’d never been that young.  

“Go home, Clary” he went on tiredly.

He stood alone for a while before Clara, a vampire so old she made Magnus look like a toddler in comparison, stepped up beside him. She leaned against him just slightly, a comfort, a warmth. A shoulder to rest his weary head against if need be.   

“It’s not alright, Raphael.” she said quietly.  

“No,” he said, turning away. “No, it isn’t.”

Raphael was at Simon’s room before he even realized he meant to be there. He could hear the fledgling’s aching sobs and God, god, Raphael wanted to hate Clary so badly. He did. He hated her for the destruction she always managed to leave behind.  

“Simon,” he whispered, aching for him.

“I’m okay,” Simon replied frantically. He wiped at his face, much like the way Clary had, in a desperate attempt to stanch his tears. “I’m okay, I’m okay—

Raphael settled down beside him, too close, too close, never close enough. Never enough.

“Can I touch you?”

A shuddering sob racked through Simon’s body, he nodded frantically.

At the best and the worst times of his life, Raphael thought of his mother. He thought of the way she comforted him. He thought of the way she sung him lullabies to lull him to sleep. Raphael remembered how tightly she’d hug him—

Raphael pulled Simon tight, tight, tight, into his arms, very nearly into his lap –too close, too close, not enough.

“Está bien,” he whispered into Simon’s hair, “Está bien, mi amor.”

\--the endearment slipped off his tongue too easy, but now wasn’t the time to analyze it. Not when Simon’s world was crashing down once more.

“Raphael,” Simon shuddered through renewed sobs, “I can’t do this without her. I can’t—

and Raphael hated her, he hated her, he hated her—

“Hush,” he worked to keep the anger from seeping into his voice, “Hush, Simon.”

“I can’t,” Simon’s hands dug painfully into Raphael’s back, “I died –I died and she doesn’t care, she does—

and that’s really it, isn’t it? The harrowing potential of immortality – _you’ll never die, you’ll never die, and the world will end in flames around you._ But they did die, didn’t they? Once upon a time. Simon did die and it was painful and terrifying –he died alone, alone, alone. How long did it take Raphael to come to terms with his own death? How long did it take for him to come to terms with his unholy existence? Did it not destroy him for _decades_? What would he have done without Magnus by his side?

Unthinking, thinking thinking agonizing, Raphael pressed his lips to Simon’s temple, “You’re not alone. You’re not alone.”

Simon wept himself to a deep sleep while Raphael helplessly attempted to give him some sort of comfort –some sort of solace in that face of all that he’d lost. When the fledgling finally slept, he was free to drink in the miraculous sight of him. His red streaked face, the thickness of his brows, the shape of his bottom lip –despite himself, in spite of himself, Raphael wanted, and wanted, and wanted.

Hours, hours, hours later—

 Just as the sun was beginning to peak over the horizon, Simon began to shift in his arms. Raphael was horrified at the prospect of the fledgling waking and finding him awake and watching him, so he hurriedly closed his eyes and relaxed his body. He felt Simon shift just so and pause for a moment, a moment in which he seemed to be looking at Raphael, gaze as heavy as a physical touch.  

He heard Simon give a quiet sigh and curl himself back around Raphael and fall asleep.

(If Raphael’s heart still beat, dear God.)

-

In the aftermath of Clarissa, Raphael found his anger growing. Simon quickly pulled himself together but Raphael saw the way his eyes were just a little too far away, a little too distant. He saw the way his smile just wasn’t as bright, his laugh just wasn’t as loud.

Raphael was angry.

The Clan received word from Alec that the Clave finally agreed to move the meetings back to a time more appropriate for the vampires to join them. Raphael knew he couldn’t stop Simon from attending, but he could stop Clarissa form harming him again. That night, he fell into step beside the fledgling as he was leaving the DuMort.

Simon blinked owlishly, “What’re you doing?”

Raphael adjusted his cuff links to keep his eyes hidden from Simon, “They finally gave in and scheduled the meetings at a reasonable time. It wouldn’t look, uh, very appreciative of me if I didn’t show up to a meeting or two.”

A beat of silence—

“’Kay,” Simon smiled so brilliantly Raphael nearly changed his mind and walked back inside. “I hope you’re ready for hours of useless droning.”

“I have to listen to you all the time, don’t I?”

It was easy, this, bantering with Simon and sending a wink his way. Easy like he wasn’t in love with him. Easy like Simon hadn’t etched a permanent place for himself in Raphael’s ribs, in the fine bones of his hands.

But, still. Still. Raphael was furious.

He spent the entirety of the meeting trying to distract Simon from Clary and in turn, trying to desperately distract himself from the waves of anger rolling through him. He should’ve said something to her that day. He should’ve told her just who he was and what Simon meant to him –and what hurting Simon again meant in the grand scheme of things –because fuck the Shadow Hunters, and fuck the Clave—  

and most importantly, fuck any future peace that would cost him Simon.

(Not again, please, never again.)

The clock ticked slowly, slowly, slowly—

When the meeting came to an end, he attempted to send a reluctant Simon away.

“Go on,” he said quietly, “I have something to take care of. I’ll meet you back at the hotel.”

“I can wait—

It was possessive. It was possessive and stupid and reckless. But, from the corner of his eye, Raphael could see Clary watching their interaction intently so he leaned forward, just shy of too close (never close enough), and casually adjusted Simon’s collar –knuckles brushing against his skin and leaving goose bumps in their wake.

He was a stupid, stupid selfish old man.

“No need, baby.” he murmured, “Go home and help Lily set up for movie night.”

Raphael didn’t allow the fledgling the time to reply before turning away and heading towards Clary. She’d been watching them, as soon as she spotted him approaching she turned to Jace and Isabel, “Could you give us a moment, please?”

“You sure?” Jace, the idiot, asked.  

Raphael rolled his eyes heavenward. Isabel took one glance at the jut of Raphael’s chin, the careful way he kept his hands very still, and quietly pulled her brother away.

Clary started, “If this is about Simon—

“Is it,” Raphael interrupted quickly, “You’ll do well to be quiet and to listen to what I have to say.”

He waited for her to nod, defiant still, before plowing on.

-

Raphael was quickly making his way to the exit when Isabel cornered him. He wanted to go home. He wanted to be surrounded by his family and to watch whatever stupid fucking movie they’d picked that night. He wanted Simon to sit beside him and to whisper ridiculous trivia into his ear.

Raphael wanted to go home.

“If that was supposed to be a private conversation,” Isabel said, “you failed miserably.”

He huffed a soft laugh, “Clarissa brings out the best in me, apparently.”  

Raphael had a hard time looking at Isabel. He had a hard time being around her –the physical reaction her blood elicited startled him and, frankly, clouded his judgment in a way that made him uncomfortable. He cared for her, deeply, but at the same instance he never wanted to see her again.

“You could’ve told me you know,” she went on quietly; her keen eyes were steady on him. “about Simon.”

“What’s there to tell?” he asked, stupid, stupid. Like Izzy wasn’t one of the smartest people he knew. Like she didn’t know him more intimately than he’d ever wanted her or anyone else to ever know him.

“Oh Rafa,” she whispered, “don’t do this to yourself. I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

He cleared his throat, “I have to get going—

“Yeah,” her answering smile was sad, “yeah, I know you do.”  

Raphael stared at her for a beat –at her beautiful face, and the sad upturn of her smile.

“Go,” she whispered, pushing at his shoulder gently. “Simon’s waiting for you.”

Raphael frowned and turned quickly towards the exit. He’d told him to leave, hadn’t he? Had he imagined that entire conversation? He found the fledgling leaning against a car, waiting, for him.

“Why are you still here?” he asked, “I told you, you didn’t have to wait.”

Simon shrugged and stared at him for a long, long while.

It was heady, being on the receiving end of that stare—

Heady, until Simon leaned forward and draped an arm around Raphael’s shoulders and smiled down at him. Then, it was overwhelming. Then, it was all-consuming.

(Moments like this where the height difference came to play like a punch to the gut –Simon’s neck all but pressed to Raphael’s face.)

“Wanna go for milkshakes? My treat.”

Raphael rolled his eyes, smiling. “You’re using the Clan’s money, Simon.”

His smile grew, impossible, absolutely impossible. “You know, you keep rolling your eyes like that and they’ll get stuck.”

Raphael loved him. He _loved_ him. Raphael loved Simon with his entire being.

-

Clarissa made her way back to the DuMort less than a day later.

“He’s my best friend,” she whispered to Raphael, ignoring the glares the Clan sent her way. “I’m here to fix this.”

Elliot scoffed, “So you say. What happens next time you need help, Shadowhunter? What do you use against him then?”

Raphael stared at her, waiting until she fidgeted or looked away, but Clarissa Fairchild was everything except a coward –she met him head on, eyes alight with the same fire that convinced him there may be a future for the Shadow World after all.

“Okay,” he nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

“Raphael,” Lily whispered, aghast.  Clary quickly made her way towards Simon’s suite –fast like she worried Raphael might change him mind.  

“He’s her best friend,” Raphael repeated, hands helpless in his lap. “He loves her.”

“Oh you fool,” Lily slumped down onto the couch beside him, “You stupid old man.”

Raphael snorted weakly. No one bothered to fake the decency of not listening in.  

 _“He doesn’t mean what he said,”_ Simon was saying, _“Raphael wouldn’t hurt you. Or anyone. He’s just, you know, Catholic. Dramatic.”_

Raphael buried his face in his hands, groaning –embarrassment hot around his neck and cheeks. Of course Simon hadn’t gone home, of course he’d heard Raphael, how could it be any other way?

“I don’t want to hear this,” he muttered.

“Well I do,” Lily replied, head cocked slightly. “So, hush now.”  

Raphael returned to the book he’d been reading before Clary had come crashing through. He tried and tried to focus, tried to immerse himself in the sentences on the page to no avail. Time ticked by slowly, the anxiety of what may or may not be happening in the room up above weighed heavily—

“Raphael,” Lily suddenly hissed, “Raphael, _listen_.”

“Lily, I don’t—

“Listen.”

He tuned in—

 _“Remember,”_ Simon said, _“remember when we were kids and I hated going to temple? Because the one my family was going to was, like, mostly white people? And then my mom found the temple we currently go to? Or went to in my case, I guess. Remember how I told you that changed everything for me? They were Jewish and Latino and I didn’t have to be either or anymore, remember?”_

 _“Yeah,”_ Clary replied softly, _“Yeah, Simon. I remember.”_

 _“It’s kinda like that,”_ he said, _“I fit in here. Here no one cares that I drink blood or about any other thing that comes with being a vampire –here they get what I mean when I say something about how weird time feels or that I never really seem to sleep anymore –I don’t even have to explain the weird ache I get in my stomach because that’s how we carry immortality around. They get that we’re not…mundane but, we’re human, Clary. Despite the urges and the bloodlust –we hurt and we cry and we feel so much. More than Shadowhunters do, actually.”_

 _“I know, Simon.”_ Clary said,

 _“See, I think you try,”_ he said, excitedly, _“I think you try really hard to but I don’t think you actually do know, Clary. We’re so different than Shadowhunters –I think even when you know us, when you love us, it’s still barely enough. Take Jocelyn.”_

_“My mom?”_

_“Yeah, your mom. She loved Luke –she loved him so much Clary, but even that love didn’t stop her from saying werewolf like it was a curse.”_

_“Isn’t it?”_ Clary questioned quietly. 

_“No,”_ Simon replied firmly, _“I think the rhetoric, this Shadowhunter rhetoric, has gone on long enough. We’re not wrong or cursed by just…existing, Clary, we just are. We’re vampire and werewolves and warlocks. That doesn’t make us cursed or wrong –just different than Shadowhunters. That difference would be okay if we were all on equal playing fields, I think, but with the power with the Clave and the Shadowhunters I’m terrified that one day that difference, that fear that the Shadowhunter have of us, will cost us our lives.”_

It went on for hours. Hours.

Simon, _Simon,_ who once upon a time spat _monster_ at Raphael moments after rising from the grave spoke on and on, furious and passionate, for Downworlder rights –and despite himself, despite the jaded nature the years had forced onto him, Raphael found himself hopeful. If they had Clarissa Fairchild, angel blood and all, on their side –well, that had to make a difference, didn’t it?

“Baby’s been doing a lot of thinking,” Lily whispered, as astonished as Raphael felt.

 _“Okay,”_ Clary said, a long, long while since they’d begun their conversation. _“Now tell me about Raphael.”_

There was no sound. No sound, no breath, no movement. Not from Simon, not from the Clan, not from Lily, and sure as fuck not from Raphael.

Silence, silence, silence, silence, silence, silence—

_“I love him.”_

“Oh god,” Raphael exhaled shakily, “dear God in heaven.” 

Lily grasped his hand between hers and held on for dear life. He felt like throwing up.  

_“I don’t know when it happened Clary but I feel like –this is the cheesiest shit I’ve ever said in my life, but like, I feel like my fucking soul recognizes him. I feel like I’ve met him in every single life I’ve ever lived and I’ve loved him every single time. Like, like I get lightheaded around him. He looks at me and just, nothing matters. Because he’s there and he’s safe.”_

_“Oh Simon,”_

_“He cares about everyone so much,”_ Simon went on. There was a frantic quality to his tone that perfectly matched the shake in Raphael’s hands. _“It keeps him up. He thinks we don’t know, but we do. Raphael thinks we don’t know what he does for us. He’s so good. He’s so kind. I just. I feel so blessed to just be around him. I feel like I won something just existing at the same time as him.”_

 _“You’re right,”_ Clary replied, happy tears evident in the sound of her voice. _“That is the cheesiest shit you’ve ever said in your life.”_

“I can’t breathe,” Raphael whispered, “I actually can’t breathe.”

“You don’t need to breathe,” Lily squeezed his hand tight, “This is good, Raphael. This is _good_.”

“I need,” he stood up, the faces of his Clan melding together. He rubbed his chest. The place where his heart once beat ached like it had never ached before. “I need to breathe. I need to breathe.”

Raphael escaped to the roof.

-

What the fuck was Raphael supposed to _do_?

Feeling suffocated, he shed his jacket and vest. Rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt. He needed to breathe; he needed to feel the moonlight on his skin. Raphael needed everything to just, stop, to just pause long enough for him to understand what the fuck is going on.

The ringing of his phone startled him, shaking and gasping for breath, he pressed it to his ear.

“Raphael darling,” Magnus said, “I get the strangest feeling that you need me, is everything alright?”

“Do you have some sort of emotional tracking spell on me?” Raphael questioned furiously. “What did I tell you about ridiculous uses of your magic?”

Magnus snorted, “That’s not the worst idea you’ve ever come up with but, sadly, no. I don’t. Lily did text me, though. She said you might be panicking and could use a friend.”  

Raphael closed his eyes, “He said he loved me.”

 A beat of silence—

“Just to clarify,” Magnus replied, “I mean, just so we’re all on the same page, Sheldon said he loved you?”

Raphael paused his pacing long enough to glare at the phone in his hand.

“ _Simon.”_

Magnus laughed, delighted, at the fury in his tone.  

“Magnus,” Raphael resumed his frantic pacing, “What do I do?”

“You open your heart up, old friend.” Magnus answered, immediately serious. “You let go of this ludicrous fear—

“I can’t, I _can’t_ —

“You can.” Raphael held onto the conviction in Magnus’ voice. “You can and you will. You have too much heart to give to keep it locked away, Raphael.”

Raphael heard the distant sound of footsteps coming up the stairs.

“Okay,” he exhaled roughly, “I- yeah. Okay. Okay.”

He turned, just as Simon opened the door and stepped into the moonlight.

Eternity, eternity lies just ahead, just at the tips of his fingers. If Raphael would just be brave enough, just allow himself this one thing, this one miracle—

-

They sat on Raphael’s bed, legs crossed, and facing one another –close, close, so close. Their knees were pressed together and their hands were softly exploring each others’ faces, each others’ hands, each others’ necks.   

It was the sort of intimacy that Raphael never thought he’d experience.

(Or deserve.)

“Clary?” Raphael questioned quietly.

Simon smiled sadly, “I loved her for so long I didn’t know what just, being, existing even was without loving her. I thought it would kill me when I realized there was no way we could work out, you know?”

He didn’t know, but he nodded anyways.

“It was so weird,” he went on. His hands rested, comfortable, just above Raphael’s knees. Intimate, a miracle. “Because when it actually happened, I wasn’t as upset as I thought I would be. I mean, sure, initially, I was really upset because she could’ve been honest from the get go—

“Simon,” Raphael interrupted softly.

“Right,” Simon laughed. “What I mean to say is, I’ve, well, I’ve cared about you longer than I even realized.”

Raphael smiled at Simon fondly.

“I cared for you from the moment you died, I think.” Raphael murmured quietly. “The moment I gave Clarissa the option to let you fade or to bury you and hope. Hope you’d come back, damned, was the most selfish thing I’ve ever wished for.”   

Simon rubbed Raphael’s thighs, listening, listening, listening.

“When you left,” Raphael whispered. He grimaced in concentration, in the effort to keep his voice even. He wrapped his fingers around Simon’s forearm, just to touch, just because he could. He was allowed to touch Simon now. “I was so angry at you, Simon. I was –I was hurt that you chose Clarissa. Even though I knew it was more than just your love for her at stake, it was about Jocelyn as well. It was about a whole life I was asking you to give up.”

Raphael looked up at Simon to find him watching him with the softest, softest, softest expression.

“What?” he asked snappishly, heat crawled up his neck and to his cheeks.

“You are so beautiful,” Simon exhaled. “I can’t believe I’ve never told you that before.”

Raphael ducked his head quickly—

“Hey,” Simon reached forward, hands cupping Raphael’s face. “Hey, we’re gonna do this, right? We’re gonna try?”

He could tell him, Raphael mused silently, he could tell Simon that the sun rose and set with him. That from the moment they’d met, the rest of Raphael’s existence meant something –something more, something better. He could tell him that sometimes it felt like he’d been waiting his entire life for Simon to saunter in.

“Yeah,” Raphael’s hands found Simon’s shoulders, “Yes, Simon. We’re going to do this.”

 They were really going to do this.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading y'all :')


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